


my silent tomb

by Zetto Rio (kalypsobean)



Category: Domino - Genesis (Song)
Genre: Abstract, Dark, F/M, Inferno References (La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24396532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/Zetto%20Rio
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Jukebox 2020





	my silent tomb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



_drip. drip._

The rain is a constant, filling in the empty space where there used to be a heartbeat with a pitter patter that never lets up, never quite gives way to silence. There was a moment, once, where that silence was everything - it stretched out, seconds turning into longer seconds until he was surprised when it wasn't minutes or hours, as if the world had stopped in that one, single, crucial moment. The way everything moved too fast afterward seemed to make up for that perfect stillness; now there's just the rain and the way it constantly taps at the window, asking to be let in as if her tears weren't enough, as if his tears would never be enough, if they came.

It's grey out there too, not that it matters; the small slice of sky he can see is grey, though whether it's cloud or just a pall cast over his window, he doesn't know. He won't go out to see any different; he stays in the bed where she slept, where her pillow still sometimes smells of her and he can reach out, sometimes, and forget she's not there, before the blackness pales and he remembers she's not, won't be, hasn't been. 

She still wakes him up with her laughter and smiles at him as he blinks, the world around them unfocused and clouded, but she never moves, never quite leaves, never quite stays.

* * *

_drip. drip._

There's an echo in it, sometimes, when the rain lands on tin and splashes; a tinkling, almost, like laughter and music from far away, echoing gently on itself. He used to find it soothing, to never truly be alone, but he was never this cold before, never this grey, missing, empty. 

Sometimes it calls his name, the rain; sometimes it batters the window like it's trying to get in, to reach him.

Sometimes he wonders how it would feel, if he could touch the sky - if its tears would be warm on his skin and chill his spine, pressing in at the base of his neck like the feeling of something not quite being right, as if it echoed beneath his skin and d if it would call quite so loudly, if it would land just as red-orange as it does on the glass, and flicker so sweetly as it runs to the ground. 

Sometimes there's nothing left, if it stops; the sun doesn't come out any more, but the lights fade to grey and leave him with blank nothing that lasts until it doesn't. 

Sometimes he wonders if it could take him away, if he asked, if he could just find it.

And then it comes, and leaves him behind; he hasn't moved, it will come back, again and again, until it waits, suspended.

* * *

_drip. drip._

There's an absence, a distance, a void. There's an out there and an in here and in between there's the rain and the cold that creeps ever closer, filling the space she left (that she leaves). He doesn't need to look for it, to wonder about it, when it seeps in under the windowsill, around the glass, through the walls; it floods like a river of ice, ever rising, moving forward, and he lies like the rock it crashes around, wearing down over days and weeks and nights that never differ, never change.

He can see them floating, sometimes, far above him; but looking up is too much and they get further away, greyer and clearer as they fade and the waves crash on his walls, leave cracks, shatter.

_can't you see what you have done?_

* * *

_pitter. patter. pitter. patter. pit. pit._

He hasn't slept for days or weeks; he doesn't know. She isn't there and then she is and he holds her, so light and fragile that he can't feel her there. The light dances through the window, fractured and red and flashing as he stares at her, there and not.

He can't forget the way her blood spilled red-brown on his skin, the air burning hot then cool, hard, as the rain fell and it was the only sound left, because her blood flowed like a river of silence, beautiful and terrible and slow then still.

_now see what you've gone and done_

* * *

It's probably evening. He's not really sure how to tell; it all seems the same, when there's nothing else - the same small piece of sky, the rain that falls unbroken, the occasional flash of siren red. It's been light grey for a while and it's getting darker, so it's probably evening. There's water coming in under the window, has been for a while; there's some warping of the wood, a smattering of brown spots that could be anything. It doesn't seem really important. There isn't much that is - important, that is. He could be happy like this, maybe, if it wasn't quiet, or if it was quieter, emptier. If the moon never rose and his eyes never closed, if the nightmare gave way and this clarity, this simple beauty, remained; this house without her, her absence carved out of the air so neatly that it left him breathless and awed, the memory of her so real that she reaches out to him and her blood-brown fingers trace a line down his chest, take his hand. 

He holds her as the daylight fails, the moment stretching out in silence as the sky sputters and the clouds fade, the puddle flowing red and warm-wet from where he begged her to stay forever, the river of hell flowing ever downward. It carries him past the children, amorphous and shadowy; the air grows thicker, the grey fades to black then white then fire.

He can see her, amid the red, as if she never left; he reaches out as the darkness falls, his arm stained brown and flaking, somehow, as the echo of the rain still rumbles in his spine, as if he only needs to fall to reach her and make her never leave.

_pitter patter pitter patter pit_  
_you've got to go_  
_domino..._  
_drip._  
_drip._

_drip._

_do you know what you have done?_


End file.
